


I'm Weak My Love & I Am Wanting

by Introvertedfangirl



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii/ Reader, Geralt/you - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Character, Inspired by The Witcher, Just Geralt being Geralt, Multi, Other, POV Second Person, POV You, Reader-Insert, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Softness, Tenderness, Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher), reader POV, there is some cursing sorryy about that so just a warning, you can't just kiss someone and not explain... pleassse 😭😭
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:27:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27831499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Introvertedfangirl/pseuds/Introvertedfangirl
Summary: POV- you're injured (no specified gender in this work) and Geralt basically is cleaning your wound, and of course he's being unbearably soft about it. Yes I am touch starved. And what about it?"For a moment brown eyes stare into those melting pools of golden amber. He shakes his head at you, with a quick movement he has torn off the bottom of his shirt and now he is already stretching it in order to place it around your wound."
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader
Kudos: 57





	I'm Weak My Love & I Am Wanting

**Author's Note:**

> Loneliness breeds reader/character fics (for me, I am in no way calling anyone else out), I am calling myself out lolll. I expose myself to much on here, but my irl's know im mentally unstable so it's all good babey😌. I simp for no man except for Geralt of Rivia. Yes I used lyrics from Her Sweet Kiss...and what about it? That song owns me body and soul. PerioD.

Every once in a while Geralt does something that takes you quite by surprise. Today that thing, or rather the events which had led to this thing, was of the nearly insurmountable sort. Geralt knows, or well you both know that you have been dancing in circles round one another, as the wolf to the deer, you being the proverbial deer in this instance, for at least a week.

Yes, it’s been a week since Geralt, wrapping his hands around your waist, after a much to close call with the monster, had kissed you. It had been a spur of the moment sort of thing, and after all the years of unrequited feelings you’d harbored deep in your soul for this particularly stubborn, brooding hulk of a man, you were almost offended that even in his lack thereof in expressing himself, he had for better or worse, beat you to the mark.

Gods, his lips were soft. Soft like the petals of a flower just come into bloom, but they were rough too, slightly chapped in a grounding kind of way.

Now as you sit in front of him, the wound from yesterday’s adventures weeping slightly, both of you are quite happy to purport blissful obliviousness in respect to one another. He’s ignoring the pained grunts you let out as he cleans the wound, and you’d almost want to snap at him to be gentler, but he takes that moment to grip your forearm. Not tightly, but the Witcher does so with enough pressure to soothe your pain through distraction.

And for a moment you wonder at that. What kind of power doe this man have over you that when he touches you so, it eases pain in an entirely different region from where it is originally located.

When Geralt is done cleaning your wound, he pauses to look at it for a moment, and then he surveys the tiny room of the tavern your staying in, surely he is looking for something to wrap it with. Grumbling under your breath you move as if to tear off the bottom corner of your chemise. A beloved one you might add, though you are not vain, it is a present from your grandmother. But, as you begin to fumble with tearing it off, Geralt’s hands cover yours, and he halts your movement.

For a moment brown eyes stare into those melting pools of golden amber. He shakes his head at you, with a quick movement he has torn off the bottom of his shirt and now he is already stretching it in order to place it around your wound.

“Lean on me,” he says in a barely there whisper.

From your position on the bed you lean over trembling, as you try not to let your head rest on his shoulder, in some strange act of trying to maintain your dignity. But your already bloody injured, and you must look a right mess, so whatever semblance of dignity your trying to uphold is beyond you.

Geralt is having none of your stubbornness, so snaking a hand behind you, he grips the back of your head, his hands palming the thick crown of curls there, and he brings your head to rest on his shoulder.

“Geralt I—"

“Hush.” With his one hand still resting on the back of your head, he brings the other around the back of you. For a brief moment he drops the hand cradling your head, using it to bring the other side of the makeshift bandaging around. And for a moment, you feel a gnawing sensation in your heart at the loss of contact against your scalp. Warm, soothing. Almost? Tender touch.

After he is done wrapping the bandage around you, he still lets you stay in the same position. That half in his lap practically, he’s holding you up, and the world is all but melting around you position. Because fuck, he’s _your_ world, and you don’t think he’s ready or even is on the same level that you are on.

Because what the even hell? You love him.

Almost as if understanding the buzz in your mind Geralt hums gently into your hair, and then he speaks.

“You’re thinking too loud.” Then pausing, he moves away from you to lift your head up from his shoulder, and to cup your face in his hands,

What’s wrong?”

Sighing you pause, as you don’t really know where to begin.

“Well Geralt we kissed. Our lips collided as if the whole universe depended upon it for its survival, and you walked away, then I got injured, and your being sooo, sO, sO unbearably you.

At this Geralt quirks his brow at you, a slight twitch at his lips informs you that he is holding back that soft smile of his that you’ve only seen few times. And some out of those few times, happen to be because of you. But right now, it’s not what you want. Changing tactics, you decide to be clearer.

“ _Witcher_ , you know what I mean. How can you be so soft with me now in my unfortunate state of injury, but you won’t talk about the kiss?”

Pausing, you allow your eyes to search his face and for a moment your breath falters, and an awful thought crosses your mind.

“D-do you not want me Geralt? Because, well, if that’s case I can’t ’t allow you to play games with my heart. It’ll hurt too much”

At the end of this statement, you attempt for a light and carefree tone, however, it falls flat and you all but squeak the last notes out, high on desperation and vulnerability.

For a moment Geralt stares at you, and despite your years of traveling together, it is difficult to decipher what that man is thinking. Eventually, he appears to come to a conclusion though and his features soften more than you think you have ever seen before.

Though his hands had long since dropped from your cheeks he now appears to be settling into that position again. This time though his thumb strokes up and down your cheek bones. To your surprise, you realize that there is wetness there. Gods, not you crying now. Natural as it may be, it is still so absofuckinglutely embarrassing.

Continuing the caressing motion of his thumbs, Geralt makes sure to meet your stuttering gaze.

 _“Me minne”,_ he murmurs gently, and then he repeats it again, still tender but with more force _,_

_“me minne.”_

“I am sorry if my hasty actions caused you hurt. I did not mean so.”

Pausing here he laughs quietly.

“I love you, and when I saw you in danger I could not help myself. That I walked away is a reflection on my own inability to express emotion, and not you.”

Here you actually begin to cry in earnest, whether it is from surprise at him admitting to feelings for you, or relief, you do not know. Though the Witcher seems surprised, he does not hesitate to pull you fully into his arms. Resting your head on his chest, you sob terribly for an embarrassing amount of time.

Through it all he strokes your head, his fingers catching on the strands of hair there as he cards his fingers through it. Finally when you are done, you lift your head up and rest your chin on his stomach peering up at him.

“Can we agree to talk next time, _before_ we do drastic things like kissing someone and walking away before explaining it?”

You let this all out in a breathless watery laugh.

Kissing the top of your head Geralt nods his head in agreement. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed!  
> Please leave comments and kudos💗💗  
> Ps: Me minne= my love in the elven speech


End file.
